American Culture · American Literature · Anthology · Classic · Collection · Deep Image Poetry · Poetry

James Wright

The moon drops one or two feathers into the field. The dark wheat listens. Be still. Now. There they are, the moons young, trying Their wings. Between trees, a slender woman lifts up the lovely shadow Of her face, and now she steps into the air, now she is gone Wholly, into the air. I… Continue reading James Wright

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